


7am Confession

by Fangs17



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drabble, Dreamscapes, Kissing, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Things left unsaid, Unspoken Love, sensation versus perception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangs17/pseuds/Fangs17
Summary: John and Sherlock finally get their moment... or do they?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and suggestions!

My lungs have begun screaming for oxygen, yet pulling away is not an option. Single thoughts flash across the front of my consciousness, _this position must be awfully uncomfortable for him… I should pull away… **Damn** , this is nice…,_ before petering out into nothingness. Before sensation hijacks rational thought.

I think that maybe this is not a new phenomenon for one John Watson. 

He’s leaned over me, almost hovering in his attempt to keep our lips sealed. I had started counting the seconds when it began but somewhere around _41… 42… 43… Oh fuck it…_ , I lost track. It didn’t seem to matter all that much anymore.

One of his hands is on the back of the couch, next to my shoulder - if the groaning of the leather is any indication, he is clenching and unclenching his fist at regular intervals. The other hand has made its way to my jean-clad thigh quite boldly. A palm rests against the top of my inner thigh half way above my knee, and long fingers drape down the other side. _I wonder if they are long enough to brush the couch under me…_

The leg of mine that is against the back of the couch is still folded at the knee and said knee is still pinned there with my shoulder. The elbow that had been resting there, aiding my hand in propping up my head, has slid forward to allow my fingers to card through soft black curls. _He has to use product, even if he says he doesn't…_

There is no air in my lungs, yet I can’t back away with my lower back pressed against the armrest. My ring finger catches in a snag between curls, that my ministrations no doubt put there, and my tongue swipes at his bottom lip. I manage to make him gasp long enough to draw in much-needed air, although my elation at not suffocating is short lived.

I can feel his tongue brushing against my bottom lip in a slightly more aggressive mirror of my action. For a moment I try to play coy, but only manage a chuckle as he quickly overtakes my resistance. As his tongue, _burning hot oh **god** I’ve gotten him worked up…_ , presses against my own a rumble emanates from somewhere south of where I was taught the human vocal cords would be. Another chuckle bubbles up from my throat as he switches tactics and attacks the soft spot between jaw and neck, the weight of his presence forcing my body to slide down the leather.

He’s definitely done this before… but then again I had heard “it was for a case” going in, and I’m no virgin to this particular rodeo either. The hand of mine that has remained idle at my side slowly starts a journey north from his thigh to the waistband of his dark pressed pants. He shifts ever so slightly above me, and my fingertips graze the skin stretched thin over a hip bone.

I can barely hear the gasp, but I can fully feel his entire body respond to that simple touch. As his teeth graze my throat in open-mouthed kisses, my nails rake down his side. I could create a symphony from the sounds each slender bone produces. Goosebumps erupt on the arm stretching out above me, when he moved it from the back of the couch to the armrest supporting my shoulder blades I’m not completely sure.

His forehead comes to rest against mine as his eyes flutter closed. I’ve never seen him this affected: cockily smirking expression shattered, muscles trembling, heartbeat strong enough that I can feel it pounding against my own. It’s truly a sight to behold. And to know I did all that with a kiss and a few simple touches amazes me. But then again, the human body is a wonderfully responsive instrument if you know the order in which to pluck the strings.

Scrunching my nose up, I lightly bat mine against his. A rumble echoes from his chest, his bright eyes gradually open.

“Oh the things you do to me, Doctor Watson. But I believe it’s time to wake up now. Again tonight? Dinner?” _Don’t go…_

The dark smirk fades into the white of a ceiling. The soft lighting of evening shifts to the bright rays of early morning. The unforgiving leather under his shoulder blades flattens into bed springs. The sharp angles and hard lines blur into a softer figure. The black curls between his fingertips morph to blonde.

“Starving.”


End file.
